IMPONDERABLE

IMPONDERABLE

Sometimes life is imponderable,
Skirting the edges of righteous rage.
Sometimes we wait in the afternoon shadows,
Pens without ink on a blank, empty page.

Sometimes our lives are slippery slopes,
Built on false, inflated hopes.
We ski before we take the course,
We take a tumble from the horse.

We rise to ride the rodeo,
Unprepared for the errant bow,
That flies from the quiver of reckless men,
We rise up just to fall again.

We do our best to pay our debts,
The doctors eat our souls alive,
We play the game and hedge our bets,
While their bill collectors thrive.

Imponderable is the oath they take,
First do no harm, the hypocrites.
Then bleed their sucker patients dry,
The cost is less if you quickly die.
But then they throw a holy fit,
Who‘s going to pay for all of this?

Sometimes life is imponderable,
With water rising every day.
And sometimes in our haste to try.
To rise above and touch the sky,
We drown alone in the rushing bay.
Covered with the stench of existent debris,
Flowing from the rebel factories.
And washing up on the distant shore,
Or killing fish on the ocean floor.

Sometimes life is imponderable,
No one cracks its ancient code,
There’s no safe harbor from the storm,
No harmless, warm abode.

Sometimes life is a renegade biker,
Shooting through the stop signs.
While those content to play by the rules,
Get lost or left behind.

Sometimes life is a prep school prick.
Posting Internet close ups of his dick.
A wild, malevolent Halloween trick.
A bully with a big iron fist,
A candle burning to the wick.

Sometimes life is imponderable.
The weight of the years unimaginable.
We are left feeling worried, lonesome, and scared,
Our tempers lost, our nostrils flared,
Flirting with the notion of righteous rage.
Pens without ink on a blank and empty page.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
All RIGHTS RESERVED